


Cigarette

by booksindalibrary



Series: Fate Has Doomed Us [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, Gen, Sequel, Ten Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksindalibrary/pseuds/booksindalibrary
Summary: Gokudera was a failure as a right-hand man.





	Cigarette

Gokudera lit up another cigarette and leaned against a lamp post by the car.

“Sir,” the driver said after awhile, “there's... _activity_ behind us.”

Gokudera didn't respond for a moment, then casually looked over.

It was then they fired, at first missing. Gokudera swore and thanked them silently for their terrible aim, before reaching down for his boxes-

But then there was regret. Why? Gokudera froze, staring down at his leg in shock. He had been shot – _shot?_ How the hell had someone managed to get a hit on him?

His leg crumpled underneath him, and he heard shouts and tyres screeching.

“Driver,” he spat out, forgetting the man's name, but one look told him he was dead. The blood on the windshield was from his head, and _oh shit_ what was happening?

He fumbled with his pocket, then wriggled out of phone. He tried to fire off a text, then missfired.

“Shit, sorry, Juudaime,” he mumbled, dropping the phone and tying off his leg. The blood was going everywhere. He had to buy a new suit, he thought stupidly. The cigarette had fallen out, lying discarded.

“Juudaime,” he groaned, “Please be okay.” He gripped the lamp post, hauling himself up and wishing he could magically heal himself. He allowed his body to slide back down as he focused on his hand, at the rings, trying to light his Flames. Only a flicker emerged.

Panic ensued. He clenched his hand, then flexed it out again. This time only Storm flickered.

“Wrong fucking one,” he spat at himself, ignoring the concerned looks and the people hesitantly approaching. He didn't have time for this. He sent a shitty text, and he was too far away.

Why had he allowed this to happen? He was a failure, he told himself repeatedly, a fuckin', no-good, goddamn _failure._

“You shouldn't move,” someone said nervously to him as he managed to rise, leaning heavily on the lamp post.

“Fuck off,” he snapped, somewhat groggily. His palms were scratched and bleeding, and the blood was still trickling out. He could feel it dripping down his leg.

“Juudaime,” he said desperately as he turned the corner. He had heard gun shots, he knew, but Tsuna was _Tsuna._ A few guns and the cockiness of their enemies couldn't bring Juudaime down – Xanxus had tried that method and failed.

So then what was the crowd doing there?

What were the shouts for?

What were the sirens and the panic and all the rest for?

Gokudera shoved through the crowd, the sight of blood stains and the look of fear on his face making a path for him.

He had to force himself to look at the body on the ground, and when he did he collapsed.

“Juudaime.” He whimpered the title, reaching out, touching his face gently. “Juudaime, stop pretending. This prank isn't funny.”

He was tipping over, and hands were propping him up. He flicked them away, on his knees in front of Tsuna. “Juudaime...”

He wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving?

“Juudaime,” he said again urgently.

There wasn't any blood, he told himself. He was sleeping, that was it. He poke at him again.

His phone was lying near his head, and Gokudera looked at it, dry-mouthed. He picked it up, wondering if it was okay to do this.

He swiped at the screen, realised he didn't know the pin, then set it back down, craving another cigarette. He was shaking, still shaking, as the emotions came crashing down around him.

And he tipped his head back, staring up dully at the sky as the ambulance pulled over, wondering what the best way to go would be.

 


End file.
